


Late

by mellyb6



Series: And Then There Were Four [4]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 19:38:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6821419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellyb6/pseuds/mellyb6
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porthos is late one night. Aramis is worried. They need to make up for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CanadianGarrison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanadianGarrison/gifts).



> PWP again! 
> 
> I'm not entirely satisfied of this one but oh well. Enjoy anyway.

Aramis is trying to act casual, going about his routine as usual, but his eyes keep finding a watch, a clock, a phone to remind him of the hour. It's 8 in the evening and Porthos isn't home yet. It's not normal. Aramis should have come back from work and found his boyfriend reading or having a shower, or watching some dumb TV show.

 

What's worse is that there is no explanation for the delay. Nothing that Porthos mentioned and no phone calls, no texts. It's been an hour and still nothing. Of course, there are plenty of good explanations. The subway may be down, there may be traffic jams, something may have come up at the gym. But having no information whatsoever is driving Aramis crazy. Yet, he refuses to sound desperate and to be the one to reach out and inquire about eventual problems.

 

Instead, he chews on his lip, folds the ton of laundry abandoned in a corner of the bedroom. He tidies the living room a little, finds the missing piece of Mati's puzzle which caused a drama the previous day. Texting Anne so she can pass on the good news is a welcome distraction, which unfortunately doesn't last long enough.

 

Aramis has just sat down heavily on the couch, with a long sigh, that he hears the key in the lock. He springs back to his feet.

 

Porthos looks about normal, no worry or exertion on his face. It displays the same smile Aramis is always greeted with whenever he comes home.

 

“Where were you?” It sounds perhaps harsher than he intended, but _he_ was worried.

 

“What?”

 

“Where have you been?”

 

“I was...at work, Aramis. It is Monday, after all.”

 

Porthos takes a step forward to come close to Aramis, in spite of the firm and maybe frightening stance he adopts: arms crossed on his chest, a frown on his forehead. Aramis glances at the clock one last time.

 

“It's half past eight.”

 

Porthos glances in the same direction as well.

 

“It is.”

 

“What took you so long?” His boyfriend usually finishes at 6.

 

“Work. I was covering for Camille today.” His muscles ache a bit from the early evening workout. He groans as he stretches to take off his jacket.

 

“Why didn't you let me know, then? I was worried something had happened.”

 

“What do you mean?” Porthos cocks his head. “Wait...Didn't I tell you?” Now, he tries to remember very hard if he actually forgot to mention it. Aramis doesn't look angry. Not too much anyway. He hopes. His voice on the other hand...

 

“You absolutely did _not_.” He would have remembered otherwise. Aramis shrugs off Porthos' hand on his arm. But then lets him do it the second time he tries.

 

“I'm sorry,” Porthos says softly.

 

“Sorry doesn't cut it. I ate all the leftover chocolate because of you.” Aramis scowls and it takes a great effort for his boyfriend not to snort. He looks and sounds so serious. His eyes are fierce even though the hand rubbing his shoulder relaxes him. Aramis is also a little ashamed to admit he's given in and ignored their resolution to only eat one candy a day.

 

“I'm even sorrier, then.”

 

Aramis tuts, turns his head so that Porthos' lips can only brush his cheek.

 

“I don't know if you've eaten but I finished the pizza, too.”

 

His words trail after him as Aramis retreats to the kitchen. Left alone, arms limp at his sides, Porthos does grin slightly at the other's petulant reaction. Then doors bang and drawers are opened so he hurries after Aramis.

 

“Hey! You don't have to make me anything!”

 

Aramis huffs dramatically, rolls his eyes at him.

 

“As if I would. I'm not cooking for you tonight. You should have told me.”

 

“You're right,” Porthos agrees. He watches Aramis prepare some tea, all the while throwing him dark stares with cold eyes.

 

“Damn right I am. Don't do it again.”

 

All of a sudden, Porthos bursts out laughing, offending Aramis deeply. He faces him, hands firm on his hips.

 

“I suppose you find it funny to let me be worried sick.”

 

Porthos shakes his head at the icy tone, but every time he opens his eyes, the sight in front of him brings memories to the fore and he cannot stop.

 

“Porthos. Stop!” Aramis exclaims sternly. It's not a shout. More like an order.

 

“I'm sorry, it's just...are you scolding me?”

 

It comes out in sharp breaths and by the time Aramis has reflected on his attitude, his boyfriend has stopped mocking him. He hasn't lost his smile, though.

 

Aramis shifts on his feet, rubs his forehead but doesn't snap out of it.

 

“You deserve it.”

 

To end it, he grabs his steaming mug, resolute to ignore Porthos while he is being an idiot. But tea splashes everywhere as Porthos gets a hold on him.

 

“Hey!”

 

Porthos doesn't care for it all. He doesn't mind how damp his shirt is getting. He focuses on keeping a struggling Aramis trapped in his arms. He even bites down on some hair in the process.

 

“I already apologized,” he points out.

 

“Yes. But it doesn't change the fact that you _forgot_ to tell me.”

 

“What's it gonna take to be fully forgiven?” One of his hands clutches Aramis' hip tightly and there's no mistaking what he is implying. Aramis huffs out.

 

“In your dreams.”

 

He attempts to break free but, on the other hand, he's gripping Porthos' arms strongly. Then, lips are on top of his head, and he hears Porthos breathe him in, smelling the shower gel. Aramis cannot help but shudder once lips glide close to his ear.

 

“I'd rather prefer in the bedroom.”

 

“You're insufferable.” 

 

He nevertheless doesn't fight Porthos' hand gliding to the front of his jeans. Hot skin on his smooth stomach until Aramis tilts his head and gives in to a burning mouth. His anger has been replaced by relief and actually, there was no real reason to be mad in the first place. Besides, his boyfriend has excellent arguments. 

 

Soon, Aramis finds himself against a wall, Porthos heavy and flushed on him, touching so much, grazing, raking skin. He moans between parted lips and then his wet tongue slides and swirls around Porthos'. Warm fingers are on his neck, pushing him impossibly further back. They hold on to black hair. 

 

Aramis is panting after Porthos draws back, all traces of laughter gone and replaced by desire. Dark eyes narrow on Aramis as they both remain silent. Porthos watches his own hand rub back and forth on his boyfriend's neck. 

 

“Come on,” he eventually decides. 

 

Aramis follows willingly. Eagerly. Only to surrender to another fierceful embrace as soon as they are in front of their bed. 

 

“You know I like it when you get all stern and authoritative on me.”

 

It's a confession in between short kisses, one hand busy pulling down Aramis' pants. He can only nod, arms wrapped around Porthos' neck. His breath itches at the hand palming his crotch, coaxing his attention. Painfully slow and not even properly touching him. Damn underwear. It's all the same to Aramis who groans, shudders and drops his head on Porthos' shoulder. 

 

“Do it again.” This time it's a soft request, and yet Aramis bites his lip. Because of how well Porthos is stroking him and also because he fears it would ruin everything again. 

 

“Not a good idea. Do you remember last time?”

 

Porthos stills his hand, feeling the hard-on grow in his palm. There's only quiet breathing in the room and after a few seconds, Aramis whines, rocks his hips a little so Porthos obliges him. He tugs on the other's underwear until it's finally out of the way. 

 

Aramis is correct, though. This time, Porthos very much wants to finish what he's started. He doesn't want to laugh so hard that sex leaves their mind altogether. They may not be fitted for roleplay, they're still spectacular at sleeping together. 

 

And yet, Aramis' scolding and _that_ voice, those deep tones and how he looked at him. Ready to attack without a second thought, it turned Porthos on. He hardly needs Aramis' touch to get hard. It's welcome anyway. All trembling but determined fingers which tug at his cock now that they are both naked from the waist down. 

 

Aramis licks into Porthos' mouth, one hand holding his head impossibly close. Passion blinds him, and he's unaware of how their teeth cling and how it should hurt as his boyfriend's bite his lips furiously. It simply spikes his desire. 

 

“You may not be able to keep a straight face on, but I can. Sit down.” It's a command now, Porthos' hand splayed on Aramis' chest, pushing. He's obeyed at once and waits for Aramis to settle on the edge of the bed. Porthos' cock is almost at eye-level but that's apparently not what he has in mind. 

 

“I don't need to anger you to make you scream.” There's a tinkle in Porthos' lusty eyes and the way he licks his lips is plain obscene. So much that Aramis' cock twitches. It does it again after Porthos has knelt between his legs and his breath is fanning on the bare skin there. So sensitive and smooth. Hot. 

 

Aramis drawls out a long moan at the flat of Porthos' tongue on his cockhead. It's almost a tease except that he does it endlessly. Little licks. Sometimes sucking. Almost kissing. But never totally swallowing. Rough fingers are taking care of the rest for him, moving slowly, fingertips grazing a ball once in a while. Eliticing shudders. 

 

Porthos hums happily, eyes flickering upwards to check whether he's being watched. He is. Hair is falling on Aramis' face. He can feel sweat on his brow. He wants to take off his tee-shirt but Porthos has grabbed a handful of it, driving him down onto the bed. Aramis was unware he was bouncing in appreciation. 

 

Because Porthos' tongue is wonderful. It makes his heart drum and his mind empty of any coherent thoughts. His lips are velvet and oh so decadent. Each suck sends a more powerful wave of arousal straight to Aramis' guts. 

 

“Oh God!” he shouts, fisting the comforter and rutting forward a little. Porthos has backed off, just enough so he isn't touching his boyfriend's cock with anything else but his hand. It's vigorous, a thumb brushing the wet and shining tip. Porthos does it another time, simply to delight in Aramis' small whimpers. 

 

Which turn to full-on screams after Porthos has blown on his cock. Hot air on hot flesh. And he eventuallys swallows as much as he can. They're both thankful they don't have to keep the noise down tonight. 

 

Aramis thrashes, groans, finds it hard to feel anything else but the tongue swirling around his cock, and the mouth moving fast. There are still little laps on the tip or licks along the length. Porthos is enjoying this. Perhaps as much as Aramis is. 

 

It takes a bit of adjustement when it's all too overwhelming and Aramis has to lie down on the bed. Porthos is next to him quickly, impatient to give him his attention again. Which he does, swallowing more in that position, once Aramis has finally taken off his tee-shirt. 

 

Porthos knows how to make a blowjob last. He knows what Aramis likes: to feel like he could combust at any time, and yet never be able to quite reach this state. Because his boyfriend understands when to stop, or slow down, or change tactics. So he can pleasure him longer. 

 

Fingers glide up Aramis' chest. They roam lazily, nails raking a bit. Porthos can feel the muscles clench under the skin. 

 

Aramis looks up at the ceiling, the bright light and the shallow breaths coming from him. He cannot keep still unless Porthos pins him down. A wet palm holds on to his hip, rubs it, rubs his thigh, rubs close to his groin, rubs his lower stomach. Under his lashes, Aramis can make out Porthos' head, moving fast, bringing him so close. He feels the beard and its roughness on his cock. Such a delicious torture. 

 

He could feel his orgasm build up but it still hits Aramis by surprise. Porthos has returned to his previous teasing on his cockhead. His boyfriend does manage to grunt a warning before he comes, shouting (howling) obscenities. Praises, he'll insist later. Praises of Porthos' amazing and incomparable skills. 

 

Porthos keeps a firm grip on Aramis until he's done spasming and he can lick him clean. Aramis' cock still twitches under his touch and his chest heaves once Porthos has crawled to his level, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

 

A glistening but pretty pleased mouth lands on Aramis', soft and gentle, tasting like him. Aramis moans, tugs on Porthos' curls while he muffles the other's unsteady breathing. He feels blissful for now, ecstatic and impossibly relaxed. Sweaty and dirty. So is Porthos. Except that his erection hasn't been taken care of yet. It pokes Aramis on the side. Hard and long. 

 

“Porthos? Fuck me,” he demands. 

 

Short. On point. 

 

Porthos smirks, smoothes the locks on Aramis' forehead. 

 

“So much for romance.” The words are working their magic, though, and he can't help but jerk his hips once he hears them. 

 

“Are you complaining?” Aramis gasps out at the fingers creeping down to his crotch, carefully bypassing his over-stimulated cock, limp against his thigh. He has spread his legs wider, to let Porthos do with him as he wishes again. He is loving this night when he is getting all the attention. 

 

Porthos nuzzles his jaw, his neck. He peppers kisses and sucks there, feels the pulsing point and the rasps Aramis makes when a gentle finger probes his hole, rubbing, easing its way in. Aramis bends a leg, stretches on the bed. Moans. Loudly. 

 

“Is that good?” Porthos whispers against his ear. The other nods. “How about that?” He adds another finger at the question, pushes in deeper, curls and moves them. Short movements for Aramis to adjust to it. The way his spent cock reacts is indication enough. 

 

“Do you think you can take more?”

 

His voice sounds far away, in the fog surrounding Aramis' pleasure and he opens his eyes sharply. Porthos is hungrily looking down at him. Aramis has no idea how long he's been working him, only that it's an incredible sensation and that his cock is already half-hard again because of it. 

 

“Always.” He is rewarded by a long kiss before Porthos withdraws his skilled fingers and gets settled between his legs. 

 

“Like this, then. I wouldn't want to tire you more.”

 

Aramis laughs lazily, grabs both of Porthos' hands and holds them tightly, gazing straight at his boyfriend. 

 

Porthos has had to hold back for so long and worshipping Aramis is something he adores. And yet, thrusting into him, hearing groans and grunts (that the two of them make), and having his cock finally buried in his boyfriend, it's almost too much too soon. He's hardly been touched tonight, unless you count that quick handjob. Porthos cannot keep it slow for long. Aramis is perfect underneath him. Gorgeous body and face, enticing noises. Perfect ass. 

 

And coming out of his transe, thanks to Porthos' energy. Aramis soon finds himself matching and meeting his thrusts, allowing his boyfriend to touch him deeper inside. To make him cry out once again. 

 

Its stern tone isn't the only thing Porthos likes about Aramis' voice. And he knows it. He has learned what can trigger Porthos' orgasms. He's not ashamed to use it. 

 

“You're so big, Porthos. Such a great cock. Can you feel it? How you're stretching me. And you feel _so_ good.”

 

“Oh no, you're not,” Porthos warns him. Because a few words and his body is heating up, his mind is abandoning him. Aramis grins, rocks his hips. 

 

“Oh yes, I am. You love it.” Porthos shuts him up for a moment after this, by fucking him a little faster, a little rougher. Aramis does like this. It doesn't deter him. “Do you think you can...make me come again? You're so...thick and large and I can feel...so much of you. So...,” Aramis gasps at a more powerful thrust. Porthos is panting, dipping his head to steal a kiss. It doesn't stop Aramis from whispering more against his mouth. 

 

“I know you can. Make me come again. All over your...stomach. So I can lick you clean afterwards.”

 

To prove his point, he licks Porthos' lips. He swallows a groan, takes pleasure from Porthos fucking him without restraint. 

 

“And after... _you_ 'll come in me. Buried so...deep. You'll come in my ass, Porthos.”

 

Thrusts are growing more erratic. Aramis locks his arms around Porthos' neck, and lets his body surrender to what is being given to him. His feet are pushing against Porthos' ass, pushing him in closer. 

 

“Perhaps you'll even have to...clean some of your...mess later.”

 

Such innuendo in that last sentence that Porthos grips Aramis' hips and will likely leave new bruises there. 

 

“Fuck, Aramis!” 

 

It overtakes him suddenly, in an unexpected manner and Porthos' entire body stills for a second before it spasms and he does indeed come inside Aramis. 

 

The first rush of his orgasm is followed by many waves, sending tremors under the skin that his boyfriend is rubbing softly. 

 

Then Porthos drops on top of Aramis, their foreheads touching and they don't say anything for a while. Instead they kiss, sweetly. Aramis sighs dreamily. Pleased. And after he takes a good look at Porthos, he giggles. 

 

“You never took off your shirt.” 

 

Porthos growls, muffles laughter with his tongue. Rolls them over. 

 


End file.
